The

doctor had been “at him,” so to speak, searching the depths of him

with a probing acuteness the casual language had disguised.

“What are they, do you suppose: Finns, Russians, Norwegians, or

what?” the doctor asked. And the other replied briefly that he guessed

they might be Russians perhaps, South Russians. His tone was

different. He wished to avoid further discussion. At the first

opportunity he neatly changed the conversation.

It was curious, the way proof came to him. Something in himself,

wild as the desert, something to do with that love of primitive life

he discussed only with the few who were intimately sympathetic towards

it, this something in his soul was so akin to a similar passion in

these strangers that to talk of it was to betray himself as well as

them.

Further, he resented Dr. Stahl’s interest in them, because he felt

it was critical and scientific. Not far behind hid the analysis that

would lay them bare, leading to their destruction. A profound

instinctive sense of self-preservation had been stirred within him.

Already, mysteriously guided by secret affinities, he had ranged

himself on the side of the strangers.

V

"Mythology contains the history of the archetypal world. It comprehends Past, Present, and Future."--NOVALIS, Flower Pollen. Translated by U.C.B.   IN this way there came between these two the slight barrier of a forbidden subject that grew because neither destroyed it. O'Malley had erected it; Dr. Stahl respected it. Neither referred again for a time to the big Russian and his son.  

In his written account O’Malley, who was certainly no constructive

literary craftsman, left out apparently countless little confirmatory

details. By word of mouth he made me feel at once that this mystery

existed, however; and to weld the two together is a difficult task.

There nevertheless was this something about the Russian and his boy

that excited deep curiosity, accompanied by an aversion on the part of

the other passengers that isolated them; also, there was this

competition on the part of the two friends to solve it, from opposing

motives.

Had either of the strangers fallen seasick, the advantage would

have been easily with Dr. Stahl—professionally; but since they

remained well, and the doctor was in constant demand by the other

passengers, it was the Irishman who won the first move and came to

close quarters by making a personal acquaintance. His strong desire

helped matters of course; for he noticed with indignation that these

two, quiet and inoffensive as they were and with no salient cause of

offence, were yet rejected by the main body of passengers. They seemed

to possess a quality that somehow insulated them from approach,

sending them effectually “to Coventry,” and in a small steamer where

the travellers settle down into a kind of big family life, this

isolation was unpleasantly noticeable.

It stood out in numerous little details that only a keen observer

closely watching could have taken into account. Small advances,

travellers’ courtesies, and the like that ordinarily should have led

to conversation, in their case led to nothing. The other passengers

invariably moved away after a few moments, politely excusing

themselves, as it were, from further intercourse. And although at

first the sight of this stirred in him an instinct of revolt that was

almost anger, he soon felt that the couple not merely failed to

invite, but even emanated some definite atmosphere that repelled. And

each time he witnessed these little scenes, there grew more strongly

in him the original picture he had formed of them as beings rejected

and alone, hunted by humanity as a whole, seeking escape from

loneliness into a place of refuge that they knew of, definitely at

last en route.

Only an imaginative mind, thus concentrated upon them, could have

divined all this; yet to O’Malley it seemed plain as the day.